songerein | [OPEN] A Late March Catchall

Entry tags:

[OPEN] A Late March Catchall

Who: Herlock Sholmes ... and you?
Which: Open Log
Where: Around Reverein (The Wild Harvest, The Communal Garden)
What: Sholmes enjoys some intellectual pursuits in public
Warnings: Threads may include spoilers for GAA/GAA2 and will be marked accordingly. Feel free to opt out or simply write an OOC note in the tag.

A. The Curious Tale of the Man with the Jars

XXnd of March(?), Throughout the Day
The Wild Harvest

[ If one happens to visit the Wild Harvest today, they will find one of its tables has been completely overtaken by a single guest and his clutter: a stack of books*, a (normal) journal, a handful of measuring tools, and--depending on what time you find him--half-eaten plates of food, a sweaty glass of ice water, a cup of tea, or a neglected pint of beer. His overcoat, deerstalker, and leather bag are discarded on the seat next to him, leaving the detective to comfortably study in his rolled shirtsleeves.

However, all of that aside, one may find a mismatched collection of jars to be of much greater interest. Judging by the stubborn residue from their labels, the containers previously held pickles, jams, and spices, but peering into them now will reveal various specimens, living or otherwise: insects, plants, colorful stones, mysterious fluids, one or two familiar orange hate feathers and a few four-leaf clovers. ]

[[ * OOC: This is a random mix from the bookstore. Feel free to make up titles or recognize a volume from your character’s canon if you’d like another excuse to make small talk! ]]

B. The Adventure of the Fickle Fiddler

XXst of March(?), Late Afternoon, Trending into Evening
The Communal Garden

[ Alternately, if one happens to be enjoying a late-day stroll by the communal garden, they will catch the sound of a violin. A few bars of a tune play, followed by a pause, some muttering, and a bowed revision. It's a bit difficult to make out the song or the violinist's actual skill given the choppy progress, but if, by chance, one hails from some variant of Earth and has a keen ear for classical music, they may recognize phrases of Paganini.

Venturing deeper into the garden, one will find the source of the music: a man standing by the pond with a violin tucked under his chin. After bowing out a bar, he bends to write (or erase) notes on the makeshift sheet music paper laid out across a bench. A chorus of singing fish poke up from the depths of the pond to helpfully parrot his melodies. ]

C. WILDCARD

[ Hit me up via PM or discord if you have other business or scenarios you'd like to address with Sholmes! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Is the nightmare getting worse? Maybe it's emboldened by his own conscious unease? Sholmes takes a deep inhale, focuses on Mikotoba's eyes, and releases it. Just a silly nightmare. ]

If you hadn't noticed-- [ Low along the floor, a rope of darkness lunges like a snake and Sholmes jerks himself around to block its trajectory. A cold, burning sensation twines around his ankle, and he yanks his leg free with a sudden chassé into the darkened kitchen. ] --this is a dream. And we're both in a nasty bit of trouble, my dear fellow.

[ Sholmes forces a wincing smile as he shakes off the lingering corruption in his leg. ] If you don't wake of your own accord, you leave me no choice but to get creative.

[Yujin certainly wasn't increasing the nightmare's intensity too much himself. The moment he got pulled into an embrace, his inner turmoil settled to some degree and eased itself back into more neutral ground. However, if Sholmes then continued feeding the noctaere energy himself, it's only natural things would turn out like this.

It's only when Sholmes kicks the tendril of darkness away that Yujin finally sees it. His gaze sweeps the floor, taking in all the black swirls and murk he'd somehow overlooked before. When did it...? Wait, a dream?

It only takes about a split second for the realization to hit, though it somehow feels slowed and extended into half a minute with how many steps there are to it. It is a dream. That means this isn't real. He's sound asleep in bed. Sholmes isn't truly here- no more than a figment of his imagination. Or wait. No, people can dreamwalk. And there's nightmare energy. This is trouble. Wake up-

Alarm rising, Yujin scrunches his eyes shut. They reopen when he awakens in Songerein with a jolt and a deep, shuddering gasp.]

[ Those thirty seconds feels like an eternity. He can see comprehension unfurling on Mikotoba's face, but the nightmare has gained ravenous speed as it seeks Sholmes' barely-contained panic. A dark wave surges into the kitchen, and he shoulders all of his rangy weight into the other man in a desperate dodge.

In the mid-fall vertigo, as 221B gives way to the treehouse bedroom, his friend is the only anchoring element in his spinning vision. Sholmes barely stops himself from crashing hard into him. He lands on all fours: splayed palms sink deep into the soft bedding above Mikotoba's shoulders and bony knees straddle his legs.

After a few owlish blinks and ragged breaths, his head and shoulders sag with a relieved sigh. ] A bit too close for comfort, Mikotoba. Age is catching up with us, isn't it?

[ With a grunt, he rocks back on his knees to scan the room for any nightmare energy that may have followed them from the dream. The only immediate sign is the impossibly black, sooty residue ringing his trouser leg. ]

[The moment of awakening was so disorienting and alarming of itself, Yujin never processed the fall. The vertigo blended in perfectly. Still, as his coherency returns to him and his gaze hones in on the face so close above his own, he takes note of the fact that he's lying on his back and Sholmes-

His mind still racing, his breath gets stuck in the back of his throat for a moment. He can't blink. He should blink. There it is. Didn't improve anything though, did it?

When Sholmes sits back to move his weight to his knees, some of that weight also ends up on Yujin's upper legs, occupying most of the area between his groin and his own knees. A red hue dawns on his cheeks from embarrassment and he quickly sits up as well, even when the urge to hide his face beneath his pillow is just as strong.]

That... had very little to do with age, I think. Were you... in my dream, just now?

Indeed! And I must say, your slumbering mind is equal parts charming and terrifying, my friend. [ Though Sholmes well knows he didn't exactly help with the latter. The nightmare energy was more insidious and aggressive than he could ever have anticipated. If it had caught them, would they have both been corrupted into dangerous Noctaere?

So consumed is he by these worrying possibilities, it takes Sholmes a painfully long time to register Mikotoba's flushed cheeks, or that he's effectively sitting in the man's lap. Well ... that's a bit untoward, isn't it? He blinks away and clears his throat. ]

Pardon me. [ Sholmes finally shifts sideways to sit on the edge of the bed. From this position, he can clearly see the ruins of his tea shattered across the floor. ] It seems I've made quite a mess of your afternoon nap.

[The details of the dream are already beginning to slip away from him to some degree. Something to do with the flat in London, Iris and dancing...? But then, he's certain there was something dreadful in there as well. He can tell not only from Sholmes's words, but from the anxiety that's still lingering inside his chest. It had the feeling of a nightmare without a doubt.

When Sholmes finally moves off him, he raises his knees up towards his chest to make more room for the man on the side of the bed. His gaze follows his friend's towards the floor, where burned toast and teacup shards lie in a puddle. Did Sholmes drop that here? He's still fully dressed, he realizes, and remembers the resolve to 'lie down only for a moment'. That moment must've long since passed.]

Oh... Oh, no, please don't worry about it. I shouldn't have allowed myself to doze off. ...What time is it?

[ Sholmes reaches into his waistcoat and flicks open his pocketwatch. ] A quarter past three.

[ Did the time elapsed in the dream match reality? Or rather, reality relative to Songerein? He tries to recall when he entered the dream, but he can't say with any certainty. It's a shame this happened so unexpectedly; it would have made for good data.

On a less objective front, he has to wonder: is Mikotoba really trying to downplay this? To take some kind of responsibility for everything that just happened? He wouldn't put it past the man, but still— ]

How much of the dream do you remember, exactly?

[ Sholmes pushes off the bed and kneels to clean up the mess, stopping partway through to dust off and butter a piece of floor toast. He offers it to Yujin with brows raised invitingly. Yum? ]

[A quarter past three? Oof, what time was it when he decided to take a quick rest? It must've been before twelve. He'd certainly overslept by a wide margin. He rubs at his eyes with a single hand and takes note of the foul taste in the back of his mouth. Naps were truly unflattering incidents.]

Oh, ah... Shreds of it. We were back in 221B, weren't we...?

[Once the toast is offered to him, his lips press together and his brow furrows a bit. Charring aside, it must've been on the floor for quite some time already.]

No... No, thank you.

[ Sholmes shrugs and reclines sideways on the floor, head propped on a hand, eating the rejected toast and talking between painfully crispy bites. ]

Yes. It was an astoundingly faithful reproduction of the flat. It made me feel a bit homesick! Unfortunately, you were troubled by— [ He pauses, trying to decide how much he wants to let on. Or how much of it was his fault. ] ... some matters. It changed the tone of the place rather dramatically.

[ He raises his blackened ankle, as if showing off an exciting souvenir. Any pain has dulled to a bruise. ] But it allowed me to make the acquaintance of that nightmare energy I've heard so much about. It's far more terrible than I had anticipated!

[Those bites are so very loud, Yujin can almost taste the charring which pervades the bread. Or perhaps Sholmes did something else to it to disturb the texture. He wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

He sits perfectly still up until the ankle is shown off. That's when he slides himself towards the edge of the bed to get a closer look, alarmed by the sight.]

What- Sholmes! How can you say that with such a cheerful tone? [His friend got hurt because of him. Because apparently, he couldn't control his emotions while dreaming. He can't even do it while awake, as it turns out, as a chill wafts through the room.] I... I'm sorry. It's all my fault.

[ The unnatural draft makes his arms prickle with gooseflesh, and he could swear his ankle begins to throb anew. His cheer evaporates. ]

Mikotoba. It was a dream, for heaven's sake. What could you have done? [ He sighs at the usual kneejerk apology and tosses the remainder of his toast onto the tray. Even Sholmes isn't stubborn enough to choke the rest of it down. ] You were in a vulnerable state, and I trod all over it. Quite carelessly, at that.

[ He begins plucking up pieces of shattered teaware and adding them to the heap. ] I owe you an apology.

[Even if it was a dream, it was his dream. How could he not apologize for that? Whether Sholmes did any careless trodding or not is a secondary problem. Regardless, the breeze eases itself into something warmer, even more so when Sholmes is the one to apologize instead. He manages a vague ghost of a smile.]

Shall we both agree to apologize, then, and allow these sentiments to cancel one another out?

[ Sholmes opens his mouth to argue. If he's going to the trouble of making a rare apology, it shouldn't get cancelled out. But he also isn't about to risk ruining that warmth or that hint of a smile—not after all of the pain he just witnessed.

He flops onto his back in mock defeat and scrubs hands down his face. ] Fine. I shall consider this recompense for the exceptionally rude fish incident.

[ Really, for all that trouble, he did come away with valuable information—about nightmares and his friend. ]

[The fish incid- Oh, right. Yujin exhales sharply- it's almost a chuckle- and makes himself a bit more comfortable on the side of the bed. His bare feet scuff along the floor for a few seconds.]

I take it there were no fish present in this particular dream? [Though, perhaps he slapped Sholmes with something different, this time. Who knows?]

No, fortunately—just Iris as a tiny thing and a bit of dancing. [ He lies, with a breezy wave of his hand. ] It would have been a dream well-spent had things not gone awry.

[ That same hand gestures to the tray. ] I meant to surprise you with some afternoon tea and artisanally charred toast, but I joined your nap instead.

[ A pointed look, but his tone isn't nagging—just musing, observational: ] Between the clinic, cultivating the Glowing Dawn, and drumming up support for this council, you've been burning the candle from both ends, my friend.

[Had Sholmes's tone been reprimanding instead, Yujin wouldn't have blamed him for it. The Great Detective is correct, as he always is. Trouble is, bad habits are hard to shake and just as Sholmes has his recklessness, Yujin has his devotion to duties.]

I suppose I have, haven't I? I just have this dreadful need for productivity; I'm sure you understand.

Indeed. If you were any less industrious, I would suspect something was terribly amiss.

[ Sholmes steeples his fingers and taps his lips, reflecting on his rude introduction to nightmare energy. The adrenaline has tapered off for the most part, but a sense of malaise lingers. For a moment, it appears that the detective has fallen into one of his deep reveries, staring up at the ceiling. Or rather, a point far beyond it, somewhere in the stratosphere.

Until suddenly, he declares: ] The solution could not be more evident: I will help tend the greenhouse!

[ He rolls back onto an elbow, looking dangerously determined. ] Clearly, you need assistance spinning those many plates, Mikotoba. And I require more time with those remarkable flowers—I'm struck by some ideas for their application, you see ...

[Yujin would've been quite content to end it there. He didn't think a solution was necessary, and so, he hadn't expected one to be presented. Leave it to Sholmes to surprise him yet again. And truth be told, perhaps a solution is needed. Lord knows he keeps telling Susato not to overdo it, so should he not be setting the right example?

Though he's taken aback for a brief moment, he soon eases himself into a warm smile. Leaning forward, he rests both his arms on his legs.]

Ideas, you say? Well, who am I to impede the Great Detective in his brilliant work? If you'd like to help me till soil and check for pests, you're more than welcome to do so.

You'll be pleased to know my thumb has acquired a hint of green from watching Iris at her window boxes. [ He raises said thumb and turns it around for inspection, as if this is an observable fact. ] A bit of water, some sun, and a few encouraging words—simple enough!

[ Sholmes sits back up on his knees and begins cleaning up the mess in earnest, mopping up tea from the floor with a cloth napkin. He glances up through the thicket of his bangs. ] Seeing as you're awake now, perhaps you could walk me through your greenhouse routine?

[Simple enough indeed. It helps that the flowers do all of the growing themselves. And the 'charm' that the ent had given Yujin does wonders as well. He rises up from the bed and places both hands against his back to stretch himself out a bit.]

Certainly. I meant to go there regardless before my, ah... my nap decided to occupy some of my time. [He peers down at the mess Sholmes is attempting to clean up.] Do be careful with that. I'd hate for you to cut yourself on a shard.

[ He laughs at Mikotoba's reflexive words of caution and glances down at his hands. They're already sketched over with old cuts and burns—what's one more? ]

Nothing the cranes and a plaster can't handle. [ But Sholmes humors the request: he folds over the now-damp napkin and uses it to pinch up the last of the pieces. Looking over the pile, he wonders if the set can be mended. Maybe with magic? If not, he resolves to replace it with a new, handsome one. ]

There. [ He rises to his feet with a grunting sigh that sounds suspiciously old man-like. ] No cause for alarm; I emerge entirely unscathed and ready for the rigors of horticulture.

[Yujin really, really wishes Sholmes would stop taking Susato's charm into account whenever he does something reckless. It's better, he feels, to act as if the charm isn't there so that it'll only be used when the danger is truly grand and unavoidable. That's why he's relieved to see the napkin being put to better use.

When Sholmes finally rises, he smiles brightly and tilts his head a bit.]

I should hope that you're prepared. Who knows? Perhaps the rigors of horticulture will leave you quite scathed. It depends entirely on the flowers' mood.

Mood, you say? [ Sholmes blinks, then looks legitimately concerned. His tone is carefully hushed, as if the plants might be listening even as they speak. ]

Pray tell: which topics are to be avoided in their company? Talk of green salads and bouquets? [ Backing out of the room, he glances around and casts Mikotoba a troubled look before cupping a hand by his mouth and hissing: ] Droughts? Plagues of locusts?

[There's a very quiet chortle that escapes Yujin, but he tries his best to keep a poker face.]

All of those, yes. And also aphids, that gets them quite worked up. [He tries his best to keep them out of the greenhouse, that much is certain. He quirks his brows a bit, following Sholmes out the room at a calm pace.] If I were you, I would ease into the conversation with talk of water and moist soil. Hmm, and perhaps you might try serenading them with your violin.

Blast! Some of my best jokes concern aphids. But the violin! Now, that is a capital idea. [ He deposits the tray on a side table and gathers the instrument in question—carelessly abandoned in the chair he's all but staked out as his favorite. ] What better audience than one so quietly and attentively rooted to the spot?

[ Finally, someone to appreciate his hours-long recitals and meandering, avant garde compositions. Sholmes gives his bow a decisive swish. ] And to apologize for my rude interruption, I shall resume the Mendelssohn suite you dreamed of.

[OPEN] A Late March Catchall

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